


You found me

by I_hate_mages_No_you_dont



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mages and Templars, Rain, post-Chantry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 01:01:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12265716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_hate_mages_No_you_dont/pseuds/I_hate_mages_No_you_dont
Summary: The Chantry of Kirkwall has exploded.The mage responsible disappeared after the fight.But Fenris won't have it. Fenris won't give up until he finds Anders again. What he doesn't expect though, are the things he finds on the way, that slowly but surely change his mind.(by kittenmage)





	You found me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ithinkitsdashing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithinkitsdashing/gifts).



> A few months ago ithinkitsdashing posted an amazing drawing of Fenris. http://ismiledsadly.tumblr.com/post/163371077377/what-has-magic-touched-that-it-doesnt-spoil  
> And I immediately had a story in mind to go with it. It turned into a tiny collaboration where he did a follow up picture and I wrote the tale.  
> It has been finished for quite some time now, but I hope people will still enjoy it.  
> Thank you to my dear friend for working with me. I am so happy we could create this together. <3

You found me

His mage.

A familiar shock of blond hair, now adorned by even more silver strands than the last time Fenris had seen it.

The last time…

Even the memory of it hurt. Still. After all this time.

It was not the explosion which parted the sky and sent the Chantry to the Maker that pained Fenris. Nor the fighting in the streets where Templars had turned against mages and anyone they suspected of being an apostate, or even worse, a maleficar.  
No, what filled Fenris’ heart with the most grief was the moment after.

After the fight at the Gallows when they had won with far too many losses and Meredith had transformed into a glowing red statue of lyrium in front of their eyes. The innate magic had clawed on Fenris’ own lyrium brands and followed him into countless nightmares. But not even that had been what hurt him the most. No. It had been that moment of triumph, when they were victorious and the Templars cleared away as Fenris had turned towards Anders.

“It’s over, mage.”

But there was nobody behind him. Especially not his mage. The spot between Hawke and Varric was empty.  
And there was no sign of Anders.  
No relieved face at the outcome.  
No one fussing over their friends’ injuries and there were plenty.  
The only thing left was the faint hint of the spirit’s presence fading faster with every second.

“Anders!”

Fenris’ yell had been thrown back and forth from the walls and echoed through the courtyard. But there was no answer. Only Templars and mages staggering back from the furious expression in the elf’s eyes.

Fenris knew intuitively that Anders was gone. And he wouldn’t accept that. Not even Hawke’s outstretched arms to keep him from running, nor Varric’s pitiful glance and “It’s pointless to follow him, Broody!” could have stopped him. There was still a faint whisper of lyrium and spirit magic that murmured Anders’ name and Fenris would follow it until he found the mage it belonged to.

And so he never once stopped pursuing the vague hope of getting the apostate back.

For months Fenris followed. He tracked suspicious occurrences from the Free Marches over the Waking Sea far into the Fereldan countryside.  
There were villages miraculously cured from illness. Battle grounds where mages had survived an overpowering amount of Templars. Traveling merchants who had exchanged health potions against a cloak, or food, or just a bit of company with a wandering man who never revealed his name.  
There were occasional encounters with people willing to talk about that man. Most folks didn’t trust the strange looking elf with the white hair searching for a traveling healer. Fenris would not have minded, if this distrust towards his own person didn’t keep him from Anders. Because he was sure it was him. He would have recognized Anders’ healing from miles away and most of the people who glared at him only to disappear swiftly inside their houses practically oozed Anders’ magic.

The few farmers and travellers that talked persuaded by coin or promises on the Maker that Fenris wouldn’t hunt the man down, only dropped vague hints.  
A cloaked figure at the inn in the next village paying food and shelter with healing. Whispers about a mage that wore feathers on his shoulders whose eyes shown blue in a fight. Far flung tales about battles where that man had taken on a whole gang of bandits at once, wielding forces no one had ever seen. A man who afterwards had turned around to help the wounded then seeming small and quiet despite his tall stature.

Only very few actually dared to point Fenris into the direction the mysterious man had taken.

The elf passed village after village that had either been spared by Templar raids or was protected by mages. All of them claimed to be inspired by the lonely apostate that came and went as he pleased, who never stayed too long because he feared for the safety of everyone who stood by him. It took Fenris by surprise how many responded to Anders’ call. Especially among the none magical villagers. He had expected most of them to turn against magic even more, as he would have done once, out of fear from the fighting that spread over southern Thedas like a bonfire. But miraculously the deeds of one man protecting, healing, and talking, turned around the minds of more than the elf had ever thought possible. It was not an open welcome by everyone. The trust people had in mages was thin and hesitant. But in times where Templars and maleficars fought openly against each other, it was all the more worth it. Most mages in charge were Enchanters from Circles that were happy and relieved to finally be free and masters of their own fate. Very few even seemed to recognize Fenris from Kirkwall even though the elf had never bothered to look at the mages in the Gallows twice during his time there. They were at the same time the most helpful but hardest to convince that he meant no harm to the former healer of Darktown. For they knew the apostate who blew up the Chantry had been resident somewhere in Kirkwall. And they had probably known him for years keeping that piece of information from the Chantry and the Templars alike. It was only logical they would defend Anders and keep pursuers at bay. Only Fenris’ patience was wearing thin. He was not any guard sent by someone to track down a wanted fugitive. He simply wanted to see his foolish mage again, who had run from him probably firmly believing that Fenris could never forgive him for what he had done in Kirkwall. For putting his cause before his love.

In the beginning when Fenris had started his journey he had indeed been furious about that. Or rather that Anders had trusted him so little. Despite everything, despite his own past Fenris had opened up to a mage of all people and that mage had entirely dismissed the possibility that Fenris would not leave his side. Even without Hawke openly siding with the mages and dragging all his friends along. Anders had probably not for one moment entertained the idea that Fenris would stand by him. No matter what. Instead his mage had run off before the elf could correct his views.

Foolish, anxious mage.

The months passed and Fenris anger had shifted and morphed and finally dissolved.  
He saw matters differently now. Even more differently than when he had left Kirkwall. He was not suddenly convinced that magic was the solution to all of Thedas’ problems. But he had seen the “protection” of Templars first hand. And whether it was Anders’ influence or Fenris opening his eyes, yet he knew that this oppression had to end. Anders’ and Justice’s approach had been a shock, but the outcome was even more so. It still surprised Fenris how well matters went with mages and others working together on a foundation of trust instead of fear. All of this, Fenris was sure, would never have happened if anyone despite Anders had taken the first blow. His empathy was as firm as his beliefs and that was what changed Fenris’ mind more than anything. And apparently good parts of Fereldan’ farmers, craftsmen and merchants agreed with him.

At times Fenris caught rumours on his journey that said the mystery healer was indeed the mage who had blown up the Chantry of Kirkwall and fought against the Knight-Commander. That he was once a Grey Warden and friend of the Queen. Other’s said he was a dangerous criminal who wanted to overthrow the Chantry. Some even said he was in league with spirits to save the people from Darkspawn, bandits, Templars and rogue apostates alike.

Most of these tales were spoken in amazement or doubt by weak candlelight in shady taverns. It seemed like an impossibility. No one Fenris met could believe the compassionate man they had seen heal their families and friends who always left soon after accepting little more than a “Thank you”, was the same man who had opposed the Chantry and Templars all on his own.

Whenever Fenris sat close enough to overhear the conversations, hunched over his quick and meagre meals before he continued on his journey, he spoke up. It was always a strange thing, when he cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention and the rooms almost always fell silent instantly. Curious and frightful eyes wandered over to him, judging his words and credibility. But no one ever spoke against him. If that was because they were too frightened off him or they believed his words, spoken in absolute earnest was not of Fenris’ concern. He simply had to say what was burning on his soul since he left Kirkwall and saw everything that had happened afterwards with his own eyes.

“This man is not a simple revolutionary. He’s fighting for Justice. For everyone. So that every person… regardless of their magical abilities or not can be free…” He swallowed hard at his own words. Free. That term still didn’t come easily over his lips. “He’s not doing this for his own gain, but because it is the right thing to do. He would give his life so no other child has to grow up torn away from their family and hated by the world for being born as a mage.” And more to himself he added: “… and I never realised that until now…” To shake off his unwanted admission he mostly turned his focus on the silent crowd and was always met by stunned expressions and wide eyes. “He believes that magic can be good. And that you don’t have to fear it. Only those that abuse their power. With magic, but also force and weapons. A sword is just a sword. The person who wields it makes the difference.”

A bitter smile flitted across Fenris’ face. Anders had once used that analogy towards him. Until this point he had never considered it to be true. It had taken him years of learning to be free and unlearning to hate all mages for the deeds of few. Danarius was dead. Hadriana was dead. It was time he left them behind. And found the man again that had made him see, forced him, convinced him that magic was not a punishment by the Maker.

When the murmurs and whispers rose in the dimly lit taverns again, it was usually the time Fenris stood up. If necessary he wolfed down the remainder of his meal and left. He wanted to get away before questions were brought to him. He still scared most people, but at some point even that would fail to keep the curious inquiries away. Fenris didn’t even need to look at the people assembled to know that every pair of eyes followed him from the room. The elf was sure that after his exit talk would resume around the him who spoke up on behalf of the wandering healer and all mages. An unheard of irony.

 

And now Fenris was faced with the man himself. After months of tracking and hoping and walking he had come across a group of children that were more curious than afraid and had willingly told the elf that they had a new healer in the village. He had taken residence in a small cottage next to the market place. The man liked to play with them. And never scolded them when they fell and hurt themselves and came to him with bruised knees. They said he was tall. With golden eyes that always looked a bit sad.

As fast as Fenris had been able to he took the road that led from the group of trees where the children had sought shelter from the rain and practically ran towards the village. He was tired. A fact Fenris had pushed away for almost a year. But if he was lucky – at least once in his life he wanted to be lucky – he might have reached the end of his journey.

When Fenris set foot on the tiny square in the middle of the village, puddles forming quickly with the increasing rainfall, the elf saw him.

Mage. Apostate. Healer. Warden. Rebel.

Anders.

The mage’s tall frame was even thinner than in Fenris’ memory. The elf could basically count the ribs through the soaked shirt that clung to Anders in the rain. Yet the mage stood there with outstretched arms and closed eyes. The hint of a smile on his face. Fenris remembered that habit. Of all the odd quirks he had found this the most endearing. Anders sometimes just willingly stood in the rain to remind himself that he was free. Free to enjoy nature in all his unpredictable ways. His childish delight at every drop hitting his face and drenching his hair was the most soothing sight Fenris had ever seen. And after months of searching, the picture of Anders’ softly smiling in the rain engrained itself so deeply into Fenris’ memories, he was sure he would remember it forever.

His heart rose with anticipation and fear. What if Anders would send him away?

Then the mage opened his eyes. They were still golden. Still bright and vibrant and made Fenris stand and gape in awe for a moment. He had missed their light. The way they lit up when he shared a joke with Anders. The faint happy glow when Anders had successfully helped someone. Or the mischief that appeared when Isabela teased him about his hair and how it would look so much better with a bit of her care. The fondness in his eyes when Hawke laughed and pulled him into an embrace as if they were siblings. Interest and amusement when Varric and Anders had been deep in discussion over some topic or other. Even the care and disbelief when Anders had healed Merrill’s hands over and over again, asking her to stop hurting herself and she apologized half embarrassed even as she knew she would still practice blood magic. Or most importantly the gleam of adoration when the mage had looked at him with that special smile of his.  
Now Anders’ eyes were wide open, showing quite a different emotion.

For a moment they just stared at each other in silence. The rain fell unperturbed and soaked their clothes and hair more and more. But as the shock in Anders’ eyes faded and turned towards something that suspiciously looked like fear Fenris did the only thing he could think of to calm the mage. He smiled.  
To be fair it was more the hint of a smile. But genuine and soft and hopefully more telling than any jumble of words the elf could have produced at that moment.

Instantly, Anders relaxed. His mouth opened and closed as if he wanted to say something but thought the better of it. Then tears welled up in his eyes. Only seconds later they streamed down his cheeks. Fenris could see it distinctly even through the rain. The way Anders bit into his bottom lip to stop the sobbing from bursting out. It was almost exactly the reaction Fenris had hoped for. Because happy tears like that were at least a sign that the mage still cared for him. That he wasn’t angry to see him. Or afraid Fenris had come for revenge because of the flight from Kirkwall. Fenris had hoped Anders would be happy to see him, would maybe have anticipated it. He must have known, Fenris told himself. Because to him it was clear that there was no other option. There was no version of reality where he would not have followed his mage through the entirety of Thedas.

The tiniest hint of a smile tucked at Anders’ lips. His eyes were still clouded with tears.

“You found me.”

Soft words spoken in awe and disbelief finally broke the silence. Although they seemed to carry so much more meaning than it would appear. Much more than just wonder or surprise. It was to Fenris as if he heard a hint of relief and the same fragile hope that had kept him going for all this time. Hope that it was not too late.  
Therefore Fenris could not help it. He smiled even more and stated in a calm whisper:

“Of course I did.”

_I would always find you. Always come back to you no matter what you did. I would always come searching for you._

The latter remained unspoken. But as many times before the mage seemed to understand even all the things Fenris never said. A short hiccup of tears and laughter escaped Anders before his knees gave in a little.  
But he didn’t fall. He would never fall. With a blur of white and lit of lyrium brands Fenris was already at his side and held him gently, let his fingers brush past the unfamiliar beard, and cupped Anders’ chin.  
Golden eyes. Golden and silver hair. Deeper laugh lines around the eyes. More freckles dusting the pale skin like stars in the night sky. Lips as chapped as ever. Stubble grown out to a considerable length. A golden earring – Fenris’ golden earring – still dangling from one ear.  
It was still Anders. Always Anders. Time might change his features but Anders was still Anders. And still his if the open, unguarded gaze of the mage was anything to go by.

Tentatively Fenris leaned in for a kiss. A kiss that was immediately returned and deepened.  
Anders trembled under his lips. His hands shaking but holding on to Fenris’ cloak with the force and desperation of someone drowning.

“For-… forgive me… forgive me!!”, Anders muttered over and over when the kiss was broken until Fenris shut up the frantic and needless apologies with another kiss. To him at least there was nothing to forgive. Not anymore. Not right now. And he needed to make Anders believe that.

All the waiting and searching and fear were over and dissolved into the gentle yet desperate kisses. Fenris’ journey was over. All the months in which Fenris had had too much time to ponder Anders’ motifs. Enough time to understand and rethink what he saw in the lands he passed on his journey. But now he wanted nothing more than to leave this year behind. Far behind. Fenris wanted to let the rain simply wash it away and leave only him and the mage. The rest of the world could fade to grey and water for all he did care. Because the only thing that mattered, the only thing he cared about was his mage.

Suddenly, Anders started laughing.

“Your hair”, he said eventually and wrapped a long white strand around his slender fingers, “it tickles me!”

A fond expression played across his features. An expression Fenris knew all too well. And had missed dearly. With a soft chuckle Fenris returned the smile.

“Your beard.”, he said and made a deliberate pause which was immediately interrupted by Anders’ laughter bubbling up a second time.

“You hate it?”

“No.” Fenris let his fingertips run through the surprisingly soft hair. “No”, he repeated, “it suits you.”

Again there was a moment of silence. Both men apparently taking in the absurd reality that the other was there. The rain kept falling and turned more relentless by the minute. By now even Fenris began to feel the water soaking through his cloak and sensed the rain drops run down his face. Anders’ state was even worse. His shirt and trousers clinging to him, completely drenched, his hair stuck to his face. Yet the mage still didn’t care. Only when Fenris brushed a drop of water away from his own nose with an expression of unmistakable irritation did Anders speak up again.

“Do you…” Anders cleared his throat and suddenly looked a bit insecure. “Do you want to come in?”

It was a simple question.  
Yet to Fenris it was more. He knew his mage. Knew his tendency to hide important matters behind small inquiries. And this time it occurred to Fenris that Anders had not just asked if he needed shelter from the rain. There was so much more his mage – for he still was his mage – wanted to convey. That much Fenris saw in the tender look Anders gave him. Sensed it in the soft touch of Anders’ hand on his own which soon afterwards led to them interlacing their fingers. Fenris knew Anders. And knew that Anders had not only offered entrance to his humble new home, but also back into his life. So Fenris did what he had intended to all along.

He said yes.

Artwork by http://ithinkitsdashing.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> for those of you wondering why there hasn't been an update in such a long time: I haven't had much time to write at all. Life gets in the way. Also due to some changes in my personal life I am no longer really into shipping Fenders actively.  
> Which does not mean i dislike the ship now I have just grown to love other ships more. it happens.  
> but it means that I will in all likelihood not write new fenders works. I will finish what I already have started but not soon. Again, I saldy don't have time to write fanfics atm...  
> I am sorry about this but hope you enjoyed this "old" story nonetheless <3


End file.
